


Roads

by modernjesusforever



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hipsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anxiety Attacks, Band Fic, Character Death, Depression, Drugs, Friendship, Guitars, Indie Music, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music, Overdose, Self Loathing, Self-Harm, Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, im laughing so hard at some of these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernjesusforever/pseuds/modernjesusforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein seriously questions his every day existence. He doesn't know what he's living for or why he was put on this Earth. After passing out on the side of the road, after a long night of partying, he meets his guardian angel. Sort of. Marco Bodt is a nervous, awkward, and surprisingly tattooed runaway. Jean suddenly finds himself infatuated with the teen, much to his boyfriend and bandmember's dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Dawn

At one point, when I was very young, I decided I wanted to become an astronaut. Everyone can relate to that, right?

All of us, when we were younger, we wanted to be something like that: a princess, a fireman, a movie star. It’s kind of stupid and unrealistic, when you really think about it. But it’s not like I can go back and kill my optimistic younger self. That’s something that’s really unrealistic.

But at times I really wish I could.

I wish I could suck every optimistic thought out of that kid, and tell him that the world is a horrible, cruel place. That no matter how hard he tried, he was going to get shot down, harder than he could ever imagine. That head full of dragons and heroes, and dreams of rocketing off into space, would be corrupted by so many things. Things that he’d never be able to forget. Things that would have him screaming in the middle of the night, terrified of the thoughts his mind could create. Things that would make him spit at the image in the mirror.

If I could just erase all that happiness, then maybe the acquired pain I have now wouldn’t feel so bad.

 

-

 

“Shit,” I hissed, sticking my thumb out again, desperately praying to whoever was out there to make a car drive by. There was nothing I could do except for stand there, waiting. Waiting for some greasy truck driver or lost couple to pick me up and take me back home.

My eyes wandered across the horizon, searching for any means of life. The crisp smell

of daybreak graced my nostrils.

And triggered my empty stomach. I could feel the boiling hot acids rushing up the pipes. There was nothing I could do to stop it from spilling out all over my shoes.

“Fuck,” I groaned, throwing my body on to the dirt roadside. The ground was cool on my face, the heat of my vomit flowing out of me, and into the ground. My body wasn’t used to not eating for a week. I tried ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth, and the liquid seeping into my shoes.

I was breathing, but it was like I wasn’t really there. The only one who knew where I was, was God, unfortunately I didn’t know God. God probably didn’t even know me anymore.

I don’t think he ever did.

But why not believe for a little bit that he cared, right?

“S-Sir, are you okay?” A voice whispered. My head, swimming, couldn’t make out if it was real or not. I listened to them continue to talk, but their words slurred together to create sentences full of dead ends. I wanted them to stop, so I started yelling. Yelling things even I didn’t understand.

“P-please calm down!” The voice cried. I felt a hand on my back. It was trembling.

Great. I scared the disembodied voice. If I was in Heaven, God was definitely going to kick my ass for making an angel cry...and probably for calling him an dick all those times.

“Don’t call me sir,” I answered, managing the little strength I had left to sit myself up. My vision blurred in an out, like someone had placed a microscope in front of me and kept turning the knob back and forth.

“A-Are you alright? Do you need help?” I tried to lock my eyes on whoever it was, but it seemed that my hands were working faster than they were. I felt around for my guitar and bag, but they were nowhere to be found.

“I don’t need help,” I said, choking on my own spit. I could feel another round of stomach acid coming on. I shoved whoever it was out of the way and spewed my innards out in front of them. I could feel everything get cold, and then it all went black.

 

-

 

_“And I'm so damn scared,_

_Of dying without you,_

_But I've come prepared_

_Resolved for my life to wear a funeral suit.”_

I let the tune melt into my mind, but it was sucked in to one ear and out leaked out the other. Still, all the words that flowed around me turned to mush.

There was a soft humming next to me. Not that of a machine, but of a human. Something living. Something breathing. Something that probably had food on them, and something I prayed was willing enough to share a meal with me. Okay, maybe just pay for my meal, but I didn’t want to sound greedy while praying to a fictional deity.

They hummed to the strum of the guitar, instead of the words. Something I often caught myself doing.

I rubbed my fingers over something smooth.

Leather.

I felt the twisting and turning of the string that held two pieces together. It wrapped around itself, making a slight turn before my finger hit my leg. I tried opening my eyes, but they were too heavy to open. I could feel my conscious sinking back to a comatose state, but I fought it off.

“W-where am I?” The words were slurred, but I hoped that whoever was there could understand me. Maybe they thought I was some useless drunk musician who had a rough night. That wouldn’t necessarily be a lie, now would it? Just replace drunk with druggie and he’d hit it right on the nail.

“Currently I’m driving you to the nearest place with a phone.” I could hear their voice a bit clearer. It was definitely a man. Boy. Male. Yeah.

“Don’t you have a cell phone?” I could feel myself growing irritated.

“I don’t own one…” The voice drifted off, and the sound of the radio filled the car.

My eyes fluttered open. The world around me was still blurry, but I could at least make out a few things. Like the year of the car: ancient.

I glanced over to the driver. Something in me expected an axe wielding murderer. Instead, he was a dark hair, freckled, teenage boy. He was tapping the steering wheel furiously with one hand, while holding a cigarette in the other. He kept running his fingers through his hair, with the hand that was beating on the steering wheel. He’d tap, then run his fingers through his hair. Tap. Run. Tap. Run. Tap. Ru-

“Stop that!” I yelled, slamming down on my lap. He jumped. This kid was starting to remind me of a newborn deer. Antsy, jumpy, frightened as hell.

“S-Sorry,” He murmured.

“You got another smoke?” I said, holding my blurred hand out. He hesitated, reaching into a little compartment next to the steering wheel and pulling out a black sack. He placed it into my hand, keeping his vision on the road the entire time.

I blinked, eyes beginning to refocus. The little sack was velvet, adorned with a little golden crest. I opened it, pulling out a cigarette and matches. Guess this kid didn’t like lighters.

Shame. I hated using matches.

“Mom says smoking’s bad for the soul,” He said, his voice almost a whimper. This kid was an absolute wreck. “Guess my soul’s pretty tainted, then.”

There was a small chuckled that released from his lungs. I looked at him, my eyes finally back to normal.

He wasn’t that bad looking.

Minus the fact he looked ready to have a nervous breakdown.

His pale skin was covered in freckles, running from his cheeks all the way down his neck. His hair was neatly combed, short bangs parted down the middle. His blue polo read “Maria Academy”. I was surprised to see his ears were pierced in several places. There was a small eye tattoo behind his ear, almost touching his hairline. More tattoos peaked out from underneath his sleeves. His personality gave off a scared, child-like vibe, yet his body was corrupted with things that should have been foreign to him.

I chuckled.

After examining him for a few seconds, he looked over, eyes widening.

“Were you staring at me?” He said, looking straight at me. I adverted my eyes to avoid any further awkwardness.

“Sorry, you’re just really young,” I said, leaning my head on the cold glass. I let out a soft sigh.

“Your point?” He replied, pushing a button on the radio. A cassette popped out, and he inserted another one. It took a moment for the song to start up, but after seconds of silence, a man’s haunting voice rose through the speakers.

“Bastille?” I said, looking at him again. He nodded. “How’d you get this on a cassette?”

He just shrugged. I shot him an annoyed look, but I could tell he wasn’t paying attention.

“So, kid, what’s up with the tattoos and piercings?” Rotting my lungs with smoke, I watched his every move. He ran a finger over the eye on his neck.

“Crazy night with some friends,” He said, chuckling.

“I like it,” I said, smirking. “Jean Kirschtein. Nice to meet you.”

“Marco Bodt,” He said, smiling softly.

 

-

 

An awkward silence had fallen over the car once again. We’d spoken only a few sentences but I could feel the disapproving aura coming from him. I ran my finger up and down a crease in my pants, avoiding any possible eye contact with the on-edge teenager. He had stopped acting so nervous now, but it was a bit easier to ignore him when he was shaking like a leaf. Now it just looked like he was extremely pissed off.

“So, you’re in highschool?” I asked, staring out the window.

“Yeah,” He said, turning onto another endless road.

“Why aren’t you there? I mean it’s Friday morning, shouldn’t you be in class or something?” He gripped the steering wheel.

“Nah, I don’t really go much anymore. Don’t see the point in it.” His looks didn’t fit the personality. I mean, the tattoo and piercings fit that part of him. But the school uniform and neatly combed hair and doe eyes didn’t.

“Really? You don’t seem like the type,” I chuckled, taking another hit off my cigarette.

“I like learning, I don’t like school. So I...I dunno, I just don’t really see any point in going, you know?” He said, resting his hands on the bottom of the wheel as he made another turn. I watched his pale hands run their course again. Tap, run, tap, run.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I said as calmlt as possible. It was starting to really piss me off.

“I get antsy around people I don’t know,” He replied, resting his hand back on the wheel.

His hands reminded me of porcelain, decorated in beautifully placed freckles. It was like Picasso had created a living, breathing canvas.

“Fine, then you’ll get to know me,” I answered. He glanced over. “I’m Jean Kirschstein. Twenty-one. Musician and songwriter. I play guitar for Teenage Ruin. I eat only Chinese food on the weekends and I basically hate everyone I’m surrounded by.”  

Silence fell over us again. An uneasy feeling bubbled in my stomach. It was a new feeling, for something to make me so uneasy.

“Alright then...I’m Marco Bodt. I’m seventeen, unemployed, and searching for my place this world. I decided school was just another place for me to waste my days away, learning how to be exactly like everyone else. So, obviously, I dropped out. I don’t own a cell phone and my parents think I’m missing...but they’ve yet to call the police. They know ‘m not like the rest of my siblings. I’m the baby, and the odd one out. I’ve never been like them. I like it better that way. I have two best friends: Connie and Sasha. They’re…” He laughed. “They’re ‘freespirits’ as they like to put it, as cheesy as it sounds. But if you ever met them, you’d think it true. Every time I’m with them, it feels like a movie. They’re constantly laughing...even when things get rough, they know how to make it right again.”

My breath hitched. He sounded so confident. So sure in himself. Something I wouldn’t have expected out of him less than three seconds ago. I watched as he delicately flicked his cigarette out the window and lit a new one.

“Thanks for telling me your whole life story, kid,” I grinned, hitting him in the arm. And he smiled.

Words alone couldn’t do that smile justice.

 

-

 

“How long have we been driving?” I asked, peeking out from under my hood.

“About an hour and a half,” He said, turning the radio down.

There was nothing about Marco that screamed ‘fake’. This was who he was. He wasn’t putting on a play, where he was the main character, that when all the lights went out, went home and turned into a monster. No, he was a living, breathing cadaver.

He was different.

I was a real cadaver. Air went out of my lungs, but not in. Constantly choking and catching on breath that wasn’t even there. That’s what I was. There was countless paradoxes I could use to describe myself. I flowed with blood, but did not bleed. I saw but did not see. Sitting in this car, with someone I barely knew, was opening my eyes (I’m chock full of deep words, today, aren’t I?) to so many things I hadn’t realized about myself.

Things I wasn’t strong enough to change.

 

-

 

There was a small diner and gas station in the distance. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. The awkward silences would be over and I could go home. Back to a silence I enjoyed.

“You can call someone from here, if you want,” He said, pulling into the decaying parking lot. I nodded, climbing out.

“Hey, wait,” I said, stopping my arm from slamming the door. “Did...you see a bag and a guitar case by the roadside?”

“O-Oh! Yeah, they’re in the trunk.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition, and ran around to the back. With a swift ‘click’, the trunk popped open, revealing a battered brown messenger bag, guitar case, and at least ten empty beer bottles. From where I was standing, I could tell he was still nervous. You’d think he’d shake the nerves after that nice little speech he gave about his friends during the ride?  

“Thanks,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. I grabbed my things and made my way toward the door of the diner. Behind me I heard the trunk slam shut. I expected to hear the car roar to life, but it didn’t.

I ignored it.

Pushing on the heavy diner door, a smiling girl asked me if I wanted a seat at the counter or a booth. I mumbled anywhere was fine, and she seated me at the counter. I looked around the old-fashioned diner, at its peeling posters and cracking paint. The cook in the back looked as if he hadn’t showered in months, and the girl behind the counter was covered in tattoos and piercings. Something inside me wanted the cute girl that greeted me back, but she had disappeared into the bathroom.

“Is that your boyfriend out there or somethin’?” She inquired, pointing at the windows behind us. I hesitated to turn in my seat, but eventually, I swiveled around to lock eyes with academy-boy. He turned red immediately.

“No, he just gave me a ride here,” I said, turning my seat back around. “But you know, if you’re free later…”

“You smell like piss and weed, and I have a boyfriend,” She snapped. I sighed, rolling my eyes. There was a jingle at the door. The nerves in my stomach told me not to turn around this time. There was silence, shuffling feet, and then another jingle of the bell.

“Hey, Mister uh...Kirschstein, this is for you,” The greeter said, acting as if she hadn’t just read my name off the little piece of paper he held. She handed it to me.

I blinked, pulling my glasses out of my bag (luckily they hadn’t broken after all the man handling they had been through).

There were at least three lines crossed out, and the paper was crumbled as if the writer went to throw it away and changed his mind. After the sea of scribbles and doodles to cover the obviously embarrassed text, came something that brought color to my face:

Thanks for talking to me. I know it wasn’t a real conversation, but I loved every minute of it. Even the awkward silences. I hope to see you again. You can reach me at (987)-667-5543.

I smiled, pocketing it.

“My first love note.” The words echoed in my head.

 

-

 

“So, where have you been?” I had barely been back for an hour and I was already getting the good-cop, bad-cop routine. On top of my recently adopted migraine, and the note that was burning a hole in my pocket, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Armin and Eren’s detective bull.

“Jean, fucking answer us,” Eren hissed, grabbing me by the shoulder. I glared at them. Eren kept his eyes locked on mine, Armin staring at his clipboard.

“Nowhere. I haven’t been anywhere. I took a break, and now I’m back,” I said, pushing past him. I kept on my path toward the stage, guitar in hand. I liked to place it out there before every gig. Not that there was any sentimental reasoning behind it, or that some big rockstar inspired me to do it. I just thought it looked cool. “Mind leaving me alone?”

“Jean, we had to have Levi play your part for the past three shows,” Armin squeaked, rushing after me. So what if that short bastard had to fill my spot? Why did it even matter to me? I was back now.

Eren gave up, staying behind, whispering something to his pale beauty of a half-sister.

“What, did he throw a bitchfit? Did the stage burn down?” I snapped, still marching forward. I couldn’t look him in the eye. He was upset with me. I could hear it in his voice.

“Jean, that’s not the point, we just…” He trailed off. “I mean  _I_ was worried about you.”

Mikasa and Eren were staring at us. Their eyes were the bows that shot arrows right into my heart, laced with the guilt that poisoned my bones, and went through my veins and up and down my arms and legs. It washed over me like an ocean breeze, and the waves of the water were pulling me in.

No matter how far I ran away from the teary-eyed blonde beside me, that guilt stayed in the back of my mind. Every time I graced my lips upon someone else’s, his presence lingered over me. Like he was there. Their cries and screams and grunts sounded like his. The way they blew cigarette smoke out of their decaying lips reminded me of him. Whether their bodies be tall and thin or short and their body full of curving roadways, they had a piece of him in them. And I spotted it every time.

It made me sick.

Sick of myself.

“Armin, I went for a drive,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders.

“Jean, a drive to you is equivalent to going out and getting completely smashed for weeks straight. You don’t even have a car anymore. I was scared. When you get like this, you’re completely gone...you didn’t even answer your phone. I called you seventy-four times. You didn’t answer once. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? ”

He trembled beneath my hands. “Armin, I promise you, nothing happened. I just wanted to get away from this for a while. To clear my head.”

I could tell he wasn’t buying it. “Jean, you were gone for a whole week.”

It was often, that I did things like this. It starts with something going wrong. A girl would turn me down after a gig, or I’d get an unexpected call from my parents, to see how I’m doing. I’d go into a spiral of self-loathing for a few days, and run off into the night. I never did it when Armin was awake. The pain he gets in his eyes when I got back could never match up with what I imagined his leaving eyes to be like. Like he said, I’d be gone for weeks. It’s mostly bumming money off people I didn’t know, buying cheap drinks at bars I’d never heard of, and snorting coke in dark alleyways. Normally, I would wander around aimlessly, dazed and higher than a kite. But this time was different. I found an angel on a deserted highway, that brought me back home (halfway at least).  

“Jean, please, just...warn me before you leave,” He whispered, grabbing on to one of my hands. An electric shock ran up my arm. I quickly pulled away.

In that instance, all I could see was Marco’s smiling face.

“Jean?”

“I need to set up for tonight,” I announced, running on to the stage. As I reached my regular spot, I placed the guitar on its stand and stood next to it, peering out into the Grotto. The black floors gleamed under the bright lights of the stage. It glowed, soft and angelic.

“So where have you been?” A stern voice questioned from behind me. I turned around, face to face (more like face to chest) with the club owner.

“Hey Levi,” I cooed, dragging out the ‘hey’ as long as I possibly could.

“I’m guessing you were on another one of your trips again?” Levi wasn’t someone you could lie to. His very presence was like standing in front of a lion with the body of a gazelle strapped to your back. His eyes watched your every move, cold, deadly.

I nodded. A silent conversation was carried on between the two of us.

_You’re hurting him, and yourself. You’re a mere child compared to Armin._

_I’m trying my best._

_Trying is something of the past. Doing something is what matters most._

He blinked, the unspoken words lingering in the dead air. I knew what he was thinking. We had the same conversation every time I got back. It was nothing different, nothing new.

“We’re supposed to have a large turnout tonight,” Said a tall blonde man, gliding onto the stage. Erwin held the atmosphere together like tape. His presence was just the medication this situation needed. “Since we announced on the web page that you’re here.”

“You must be happy for that,” Levi shot back. Erwin smiled and nodded. He tried acting as if he didn’t care how much money our shows brought in. We all knew it was true, though.

“The stray dog’s back,” Erwin said, smile brightening. It wasn’t something he did often. “I’m glad for that. Sadly, Levi and I have agreed that you deserve punishment for your little road trip.”

Silence. Pure, bittersweet silence.

I laughed. Their faces stayed straight.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

 

-

 

“Jean, do you even remember how to play guitar?” Eren hissed, peaking out into the audience. Burning rage was beginning to build up inside me as I attempted to hold myself together. The wine colored curtains, covered in cigarette holes, were returned to their spot. Erens hands slipped into his pockets, pulling out a white, blood splattered guitar pick.

“You left that here,” Mikasa whispered, never making eye contact. I held my breath, rubbing the pick with my thumb. “We found it in the gutter in the alley out back after you ran off.”

“Thanks, I thought I lost it,” I said, smiling.  

“Stop running away, Jean,” Mikasa sighed, running her fingers over her bracelets. “There’s nothing here that can hurt you. You’re safe. Stop acting like we’re going to kill you.”

“I don’t need another fucking lecture,” I ordered, pushing all my weight on to the balls of my heels. Mikasa’s body was idle for a moment, until her arm swung around and left a burning pain on my cheek.

“What the…” I muttered, touching my face lightly where the blow had hit.

“You’re selfish, Jean. You know that? Even back in highschool, you were selfish. It isn’t all about you. And don’t tell me that’s not what you think, because it is. You’re an honest person Jean, but you’re lying to yourself and the rest of that world about the fact that you’re not okay. You’re fucked up. Even more fucked up than the rest of us.” Her glare shot daggers into my soul. The words sank deeper and deeper into my lungs, until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I was drowning again.

“You’re on,” Armin said softly from behind, fixing his headset. “And welcome back Jean.”

I ignored his diamond-like smile, and followed Mikasa and Eren on to the stage. Her words echoed throughout the room, the crowd repeating her sentences within their conversations. Nothing came to mind except what she said.

“Hi again you guys,” Mikasa exclaimed, fixing the microphone in front of her. Her personality completely changed when she was in front of the mic. She acted as if the conversation behind the curtain had never happened. Her almond eyes would widen, her lips looked softer, hair glistening like water. It wasn’t her on stage. It was someone else.

The same went for Eren. He gave off a tone that was foreign to what I heard almost every day. On the stage he wasn’t Eren Jaeger. It was bright smiles and shining eyes from the both of them. There was no anger there, no sadness or sorrow. It was the music that flowed through them, and on to the stage.

It made me jealous. Jealous of the way they coped. They were angry with me, but their gestures and speech didn’t show it. Going on to that stage, I was tense, a stone. Emotion danced on my face like a small child. I couldn’t hide it. I couldn’t hide any of it. The only things that did not show were the blood in my veins and the bones beneath the skin. And sometimes I felt like they could see those too.

“Fuck,” I whispered, shielding my eyes from the bright lights. Everything suddenly felt overwhelming. The world was too big of a place for someone like me. Scum, scum like me.

“Again, we’re Teenage Ruin, previously known as Modern Jesus. I hope you’re all doing well tonight,” Mikasa said, words flowing into the microphone and out the speakers. I closed my eyes and listened to her words. The anger and anxiousness rushed out of me and I was filled with emptiness.

And I was okay with that.

“We’re going to be doing a few covers tonight, and a few songs of our own,” She confirmed, lowering the stand and taking the mic out. I picked up my guitar as she sat down, Eren following her in suite.

Eyes mindlessly wandering the audience, I spotted a familiar face. Almost hidden by the shadows of the back of the club, a boy stood. His eyes met with mine and electricity filled the room almost instantly. 

“Marco?” I breathed, the name almost lost underneath Mikasa’s speech.

The next hour was unbelievably painful. I kept my eyes locked with his, not sure if he was really looking at me or not. A girl and boy stood next to him, chatting with a group of people. I played along with Mikasa and Eren’s flower-like voices, but I never really played. My mind raced, only thinking of my hands running over Marco’s face like water, handling him as delicately as he looked. Throughout the entire show, I kept my eyes on him and only him. I was surprised that neither Mikasa nor Eren noticed I choked on 2 of the songs.

 

-

 

“So you’re a friend of Jean’s?” Armin inquired, tucking a piece of loose hair behind his ear. He could never really accomplish a pony tail. He was smart as all get out, but something as simple as that defeated him.

“Sort of, I met him while driving this morning,” Marco said, smiling towards me. In the back of my mind, all I could think about was pouncing across the small, tattered table and covering him in kisses.

_Not in front of Armin, not in front of Armin._

“Oh, that was...nice of you,” Armin said, smiling in return. The entire table was uncomfortable, I could tell. Marco’s friends, Connie and Sasha, were regular nut jobs. Sasha dressed as if Stevie Nicks herself picked out her clothes for her, and Connie’s head was completely shaven. They held cigarettes in their hands, smoke rising into the dull lights. Mikasa and Eren sat, eyes burned by the smoke.

Straight Edges were no fun to be with. No wonder I never hung out with them as much as I used to in high school. My life was nothing but booze, sex and drugs. Things that probably threw them off their rockers and made their skin crawl. 

“I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” Marco announced, pushing himself away from the table. Connie and Sasha gave him pleading looks as he disappeared into the crowd.

“You’re highschoolers?” Eren asked.

“Yeah. We go to this snobby rich kids school,” Connie replied, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray. Eren coughed.

“It’s not all that bad. We get fed and the teachers are pretty cool. At least the elective ones are,” Sasha added, smiling.

“Mr. Hannes can suck it, though,” Connie frowned, putting his cigarette out.

“Oh I know him, he’s a family friend,” Eren said, nodding. “Sort of.”

I couldn’t stand the fake smiles and forced laughter anymore. I was choking. I excused myself and disappeared into the sea of people.

Music blared out of old speakers, people dancing and talking. Some of them complimented my guitar playing, and others welcomed me back. I shooed them off as quickly as they came. I made my way out, and over to the bathroom. I leaned up against the wall, lighting a cigarette.

Across the room I could see Armin attempting to make better conversation. Something must have gotten them all riled up, because now they were talking back and forth, all with huge smiles on their faces.

I waited, watching the bathroom door swing open and close, men running in and out. Surely enough, after a while, Marco found his way out. I stopped him.

“Hey, kid,” I said, taking the cigarette out of my mouth.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” He replied. “It sounds so cheesy.”

I shrugged. “I can be a pretty cheesy person at times.”

He laughed, the top of his ears going pink. I could feel my face doing the same, so I quickly covered my face with my hand, cigarette resting in my fingers. I placed it on my lips but didn’t dare let it enter my mouth.

“What are you doing back here?” He asked, slipping a hand into his pocket. I watched him, taking mental pictures of every single crevice of his body. In fear of this being the last time I was going to see him, I memorized the placement of his freckles and the brightness in his eyes.

“I wanted to see you.” The words came out smooth as I removed my hand from my mouth.

I let the cigarette fall to the floor. I couldn’t control the urge to touch him anymore. My arms shot out like rockets, slamming him into the wall opposite the one I was leaning against. My hand reached up and roamed over his face, his cheeks like rose petals. His breathing was uneven, matching up with my own interrupted breathes. I let my lips slip on to his, the gnawing urge growing stronger. My hands wrapped around his face, my tongue finding its way in and out of his tar-battered mouth. There was no protest as I slowly removed them from his face. He didn’t shove me away as they glided down to his hips, resting there as if someone had made that spot just for my hands. He slowly began taking over, his hands pulling at my hair, rough.  

I didn’t see Armin in him. The guilty feeling I had with the others wasn’t here. That ghost was gone. I only saw Marco Bodt. A freckled porcelain doll covered in tattoos and piercings, lungs that were filled with smoke and a heart that beat faster than anyone else’s.  

 


	2. Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors.

There was a soft silence that lulled over the room. I sat in bed (which was really just a matress and sheets lying on a cold wooden floor), staring at Armin's motionless body. In the darkness, I could feel myself reaching for him, my arms aching to hold something. But coaxed myself into thinking I didn't want to touch him. His silk like skin was suddenly vats of acid that would kill me if I got too close. He was a land mine to me. 

Under the moonlight that peaked in through the blinds, his bright blonde hair reminded me of a younger him. I looked at his shoulder, noticing the spot where I had once stabbed him in the back to get his attention in a math class.

Maybe it was history.

Back then, it was simple to get his attention. He always picked a seat next to the window, and mine was for some reason a few away from his. Always in the perfect spot, where I could catch him gazing out the window. He'd rest a soft hand under his chin and watch birds. Sometimes he'd sribble down what they looked like. But it was more or less just looking at the sky. Countless time he could have caught me, red in the face, and tell me off. But he never did. (Though I was sure he had caught on by our third year).

Armin liked nature. Every day he talked about the ocean. He wanted to visit, with all of us staring at the last rays of sun before they were pulled away by the night. He'd weave short stories of our lives when we left highschool. The band would make it big. Record labels across the world wanted us in their studios, writing songs and performing for people. We'd be the best thing since Madonna. It was always followed by a smile. An big, optimistic smile that could bright up anyone's mood. 

I wish he still talked like that. I wish I hadn't taken that ray of sunshine his smile had once trapped. I let in a monster, a sadness that rotted his teeth and ripped away that grin. It was no longer there. He only shared it with me now. Like it was the only thing he had left that we could bond over. Like it was the only thing of his that I actually liked. 

_And I would be lying if I said that wasn't true._

I got lost in thought, staring at the dark cieling. 

Our little town was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Just lots of sand and an old arcade that had survived its way through the years. Yes, there was a super market and a shop or two, but at times the arcade seemed like the only place a living creature stirred. That’s the place I called home. Every Friday night, Jean Kirschstein stood in front of that black screen, banging on the Space Invaders machine like an idiot, screaming obscenities up and down. Armin always said you could hear me over the whirring of the machines.

_Its like an all out war over here, Jean._

_It is a war. I’m trying to beat these stupid cocksucking aliens._

Laughter. I could hear his laughter play in my mind, the way he used to laugh. Ringing like a bell, it was short but sweet. It made you want to listen to more than just his laugh. His words were once like poetry, his laughter just came along for the ride. 

_You ruined that, Jean._

“Jean?” A voice whispered. I was suddenly pulled from more self-loathing. The springs of the mattress creaked under Armin’s weight (it wasn't much).

_He hasn’t been eating lately._

His small, slender body rolled over to face me and my horrified expression. I counted in my head the seconds it took me to respond.

Nine.

I let my arms fold back in, still on fire at the thought of touching him.

“Yeah, babe?” I whispered back. In the moonlight, his eyes reminded me of a child. They held so much knowledge, yet were so innocent and caring. 

How long had we lived together? If anyone asked I couldn't answer. Because I didn't care. The apartment was cut in half: livingroom held what was mine, and the unsturdy kitchen table held what was his. Sharing only a bedroom, I could only think of only endless hours of sex. We had nothing in common. We held no similar interests anymore. 

_Did we ever?_

I liked the feeling of fucking him. Each time started the exact same way. Armin would walk through the front door, I on the couch, watching television. There was never anything on the screen on, I was always too high to turn it on. Grocery bags would be set down as a kiss is planted on my cheek. It would get me started. Armin starts dinner and acts as if he didn't ignite a flame. Yet I'd fuel in inferno. Shuffling feet would follow him into the kitchen. I'd tell him I was hungry and wrap my arms around his waste. Ask what for, I would think. He'd obliged to my inner monolouge, and we were off. Neck biting, clothes thrown into heaps on the floor, everything was wet and hot. I'd have him screaming in seconds. There wasn't a place in the house where I hadn't banged him. 

Dinner would burn. We'd go to sleep on empty stomaches. 

_I wish I could go back to the time where it was just me. Only me._

“I-Is something wrong?” He was sitting up now, scanning me like a barcode with his eyes. They crossed over the cigarette burns that ran up and down my arms like bulletholes. Years of burning skin by putting out cigarettes were shown to the world in that bedroom. It was the only time it was safe. That room was the only place I showed vulnerability. 

“Nothing,” I smiled, reaching out to touch his face. It was warm and soft, prettier than my skin would ever be. Dark circles that hung under the eyes ruined his entire picture. Instead of being cute and babyfaced, it added ten years.  “I just had a bad dream, tha-.”

A loud thump could be heard from overhead, cutting off my bitter lie. It was followed by screams you could only hear in your nightmares. Screams you only heard out of the insane. 

My nightmares were nothing compared to the things that danced around in the head of Eren Jaeger. The screams he made dug down to the core of mind, echoing there for hours. The shouts and hollars whispered horrible things through the cieling and down to our room. 

In highschool, Eren's life could only be described as hell. A hell almost worse than my own. His father beat on him constantly, day and night he was rushing Eren with countless threats and demands. If Eren didn’t clean the kitchen, he’d receive a beautiful half an hour beating that included various hits to the face and ended in a bruised bone or two.

Back then, the only thing I could muster to say to him was “suck it up, we all have problems too, Eren”.

Then came the day his mother was murdered. Nobody was sure how it really happened. Doctor Jaeger’s name was hushed for months, yet bolded in the town’s tabloids. 

It never said he had skipped town. Yet nobody ever read the paper anyway. So nobody cared. 

His son and adopted daughter were left with the pain and depression that was brought along with their mother’s death. He left no closure, only an open door that let in all the wasps and spiders. And they left horrible bites, sinking into the skin, deep.

Mikasa seemed almost unmoved by the event. At least that’s what she played off. I still caught her crying behind the school every once in a while. Her cries were soft, almost unnoticeable when they were caught by her hands, which masked her face so well.

Eren was different. 

We all knew the storm that followed. Armin, Mikasa and I restless, keeping a close eye on what Eren ate and what he didn’t say. Some days were like before the accident, where the green-eyed boy would smile and laugh, and other days he would slam his fists on tables and break things. Mikasa had it the worst, seeing his sanity slowly wither away.

Silence fell over the both of us, kissing away the screams.

“You think like a wanna-be poet, Jean,” Armin croaked, his voice awakening. “But you talk like an idiot.”

A smile. A smile that broke my heart every single fucking time it came across his face. I didn’t love that smile. I loved what that smile brought with it. Nights of sex and meaningless conversations about our lives together. I knew we weren’t going to have a life together because I knew I was going to leave him. He wasn’t worth my time.

And sometimes I felt like I wasn’t worth his.

“Thanks, you bastard,” I cooed back, ruffling his hair. “You better go check on Eren. Mikasa’s working late at the bar again tonight, and he probably won't calm down for another hour.”

Armin nodded slowly and pulled himself out of bed. His slim shape was perfectly silhouetted in the darkness as he pulled on his shirt and pants. His figure disappeared beneath dark clothes and flowed out of the room like ghost.   

I began drawing pictures with my fingers in the sheets. I listened to the front door slam. Memories of being left alone flooded my brain. 

Elizabeth Kirschtein was a slut. Nothing less could be said about her. Men constantly paraded through the house. I was no older than five years old when I caught my mother having sex in the basement of our house, ignoring my screams of terror. Someone that young subject to something like that could only think of one thing: he was hurting his mother. Sex was never something that was fully explained to me. From that point on, I just knew that's what my mother liked to fill her spared time with. Her kind of sex was loud and obnoxious. When I got older, as it leaked through the walls, I could only ever think that I wanted my partner to sound comfortable. Not in pain.

If the situation could be made any worse, men were there when she wasn't. Groggily, they would stand at the end of my bed. 

"Where's your mother?" Men with deep voices, that's what Elizabeth liked. I imagined my father to have a deep voice. 

I never really replied. These memories were fuzzy in my mind. Each time I thought about an incedent that happened with one of my mother's lovers, a happier memory came to mind. A day at the beach, ice skating at a homemade pond, her reading me bedtime stories instead of drinking all night. 

_Elizabeth turned you into a bitter child, Jean._  

I looked at the walls that surrounded me, covered in drawings and pictures. Sticky notes tacked to the lower wall were placed colored coated, each one adorned with a doodle of a flower or bird. Armin's drawings were like Van Goghs compared to my twisted fairytales. While Armin hung up beautiful poems he'd written me, I posted up song lyrics of torture and despair that were written for nobody but my own being (nothing Teenage Ruin would ever play in one of their sets, of course). I examined the wall until I reached the top, then I slowly let them sink to the bottom. 

Under a pile of clothes, a needle stuck out its ugly head. Eyes searched for a prettier image. 

I got up, drawn to a picture of Armin and I on the beach. The day burned a hole into the back of my mind. A day I wanted to forget more than anything. It wasn’t a bad memory, no, but a good one that made the guilt fill my veins once again. I wanted to take a marker and scribble out the white smiles and fill them with the black that should be there. 

Something about me smiling made the picture all wrong. It looked out of place. I was the goose swimming in a pond of swans. _Unappealing._

I threw the picture onto the floor, the snapshot landing with no noise made. I grew hungry at the thought of a needle entering my flesh. The flavor of adrenaline sat stale in my mouth. Hands thinking before mind, fingers jammed it in before questioning and doubt could speak their thoughts. The rush glided through my veins as I slumped against the wall, knocking down even more photographs.

The feeling couldn’t be described as anything more than beautiful. My body floated on a sea of stars, mind at complete standstill. The slow drum of heartbeat rolled in and out of hearing, like a siren fading in the distance. With slow, uneven breaths I found myself back in bed. A cold finger tickled my chest. 

The images in my brain soon began to blur, along with my vision. The walls melted into each other and created a single dark blur.

-

When I woke up, the window was wide open, letting in burning sunlight and sad traffic noises. The pictures that had scattered the floor the night before had been neatly stacked in dark corner of the room.

As I peeled myself from the mattress, a sharp pain blasted up my arm. Rocking back and forth, my body broke into a cold sweat. Nerves and parania took over quickly. I could feel my skin moving on my body, my insides collapsing on themselves. Everything around was high definition except someone had spilled coffee on the screen. It was burning hot, too. 

“Jean, are you up?” Armin called from the other side of the door.

Putting right foot in front of left, I found myself in the middle of the living room, staring at my mother’s old record player. A Fleetwood Mac record spun on the old machine, soft sputtering leaking from each rotation. I looked at the black disk as if it was new to me.

“Jean…Jean look at me,” Armin said in hushed tones. "What's wrong? Did you have another bad dream?"

The world was screaming at me at that moment. Women, children, men, my mother. They were all there in that one room, speaking to me, telling me things I didn’t want to hear. Then I realized it wasn’t them screaming, it was me. I was screaming. The words that were in my head were coming from my mouth. And they weren’t directed at me.

I screamed at Armin, top volume, my face growing red.

“Do you really fucking think I want you here?” The words were sour, leaving a bitter taste on the carpet and sofa. It wasn’t me. That wasn’t who I was. I didn’t want to hurt Armin.

_Or did I?_

“Jean, what the hell are you screaming about?” He retaliated, grabbing my arm. His eyes were scanning again, judging me.

_No he wasn’t judging me, he’s worried._

“Don’t fucking touch me Armin.” Words were venom now, something words than just a lemon. The concern in Armin only showed through his eyes. He looked as if he were staring to the sun, squinting at me. 

Something changed. Silent, both of us huffing, the air edging on further confrontation. Pain again sent shocks up my arm, earthquakes causing me to fall to my knees. Armin began screaming again, this time terrified.

“Jean, you didn’t…” He cried, ripping something from my body. I was losing consciousness again.

He stuck something in my face, as he dropped to his knees also. We were eye level now. I felt close to him. Closer than I ever had before. The moment leading up to Armin’s next words was long and drawn out. He didn’t know what to say. It made me want to wrap him up in my arms, snake my tongue into his mouth. I wanted to love him. I wanted to sink my venom into him and make him mine again.

“Jean you could have overdosed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is really short, and not all that interesting, but it's supposed to show a little peak into Armin and Jean's relationship. It's almost like half a chapter. I wish it was summer, where I could work on this daily and get out all the kinks, but its hard and I have too many AP classes. Next chapter will be a little longer, hopefully!


	3. Fields and Oceans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors, I'll make corrections ASAP.

“You’ve got horribly scary eyes, Jean,” The young boy across from me said, taking a large sip from his coffee mug. My mouth shot open almost as if I were going to argue with the statement.

It wasn’t a lie, of course. I did have quite frightening eyes. Elizabeth told me they could burn holes through a women.

_Not a face suitable to date._

“Thanks, that’s what my mother always told me,” I laughed in reply.

Marco held his mug to the highest stature. Everything he touched was given a new meaning. He was a runaway prince who had yet to drop his prince-like manners. He walked with pride and confidence but society made him talk like a mere child.

The people in his world hadn’t prepped him properly for the one the rest of us lived in. So now when he came across a situation that hadn’t been written down on a notecard and handed to him, the curious child came out and forgot the etiquette they had drilled into his brain.

_I think you’re beautiful._

“I like them,” He said, closing the space between us. “They’re bedroom eyes.”

It was my turn to take a swig of coffee.

I had invited the teen out to breakfast, not wanting to face another hungover morning with Armin. It’d been a gruesome week since the heroin incident and we were sleeping in separate rooms. Of course, since I was the bad-guy in the situation, the couch was my sanctuary. It allowed me stay up until the lonely hours of the night, smoking as much as I wanted to and drinking whiskey like a fish did water.

_Can fishes even drink water?_

“It’s 7AM and you’re flirting with me?” I asked, sloppily setting my coffee down, a few brown orbs spilling onto the napkins placed before me.

“I’m only telling you what I think is true,” Marco croaked, rolling his neck and placing his eyes in a different direction. He was wearing a tight black tee, “LoverBoy” spelled out in big bold lettering across his chest. Marco had a lot more muscle than his school uniform had revealed the first time we crossed paths. Even at the club he hadn’t seemed so fit; he just another gangly teen until now. What made it worse was that his pants were even tighter than his top. Those jeans showed the world everything Marco Bodt had to offer below the belt buckle.

And I liked it.

I liked it a lot.

“I don’t have bedroom eyes,” I stammered back, trying my best to sound angry. It didn’t work. I sounded more flustered than my grumpy self.

“Alright, you don’t have bedroom eyes,” He said, shooting me an angelic smile. It was slightly crooked, but in the cutest way.

I let a comfortable silence fall between us.

The air around made me realize I looked like a pauper sitting across from a king. While Marco’s tattooed physique was something that would make girls everywhere go nuts, I resembled something in a Stephen King novel. Hair uncombed, jetting out in almost every direction. My white _Hipster Fag_ t-shirt was covered in blood stains from a haze-filled fight in a bar across the state. Eyes were framed by thick glasses, things I thought made me look cool (Levi, of all people, told me I looked like a douche). If anyone were to look at the two of us now, they’d think I were this boy’s troubled brother. He and I were forced out, to bond. I could feel the anxiety bubbling in my feet, clawing it way up to my intestines.

“I like your band.” Silence broken. My internal crisis averted.

“Thanks, it’s not much though,” I said, ruffling my hair even more. “For Mikasa and Eren, it’s nothing more than a little side job.”

Marco let a puzzled look take over his face. “So you guys...aren’t really an official band? You’re not looking for anything serious?” His voice was soft, like velvet. His questions held no discernment beyond his breath’s end.

“Nah,” I muttered, talking into my mug. “I mean don’t get me wrong, we love doing it. Every Thursday night at the Grotto, sometimes the weekends. But hell, the pay...it’s all tips. Levi is a cheap motherfucker. We don’t get paid for gigs, we pay him for gigs.”

“It looked like you guys had a lot of fans.”

“Kid, if we had a lot of fans, we’d be in Hollywood, sitting in an executive’s office talking contracts and publicity stunts. There’s no way in hell we’re getting anywhere except for that sleazy little bar, singing for a whopping two-hundred people a show.” I added in a nice eyeroll for dramatics as I downed the rest of my coffee.

Marco’s face lit up. “Two-hundredpeople?” He emphasized the hundred. Like it was the most shocking number in the world.

“Yeah? That’s the maximum amount they can let in on Thursday nights. Regulations and bullshit,” I stated. “You don’t get out much, do you? It’s common sense. Clubs have to have codes. Plus guess who has to clean up all the broken beer bottles and shit thrown on the floor at the end of the night? Fucking Teenage Ruin, that’s who. If Levi let in any more people, I’d probably murder him.”

“No, no. I mean that’s a lot of bodies, Jean,” Marco bubbled, smiles crossing his face with each word.

“What do you mean _‘that’s a lot of bodies’_. Now you sound like the murderer,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“I could never imagine standing in front of that many people, play stupid little folk songs.”

“Wait a fucking minute here, did you just say my songs are stupid?” I barked, pointing a finger in his freckled face.

“Stupid and little, yes I think that’s what I said,” He snickered. Any other person saying that would have caused me to blow a fuse and deck them across the face. I took my songwriting seriously. But out of all the men to slur abuse to me, it was him. And he was someone who made my heart race at a half-assed insult.

My palms sweated, I wanted to hear more of what he thought.

What he thought of me.

I wanted to know if he thought my movements were as beautiful as I thought his were. I wanted to know if he longed to see the smile I hid deep in the cracks between my teeth. I wanted to know if he thought my words were like poetry, how I wanted them to be. I wanted to know if he loved me.

_I wanted to know so badly._

“That’s an asshole thing to say,” I replied. “I was thinking about paying for your breakfast. I’m having second thoughts now.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His lips parted, making sure each word was crisp and painted to perfection. From what he showed, English language was Marco’s eighth wonder of the world. Nothing in his appearance really revealed what his world was like, but his words laid it all out on the table.

_Where do you get the money to pay for your tattoos? Daddy?_

“So, who exactly are mummy and daddy,” I questioned, imitating the best English accent I could muster. “You don’t talk like the bad kid you make yourself out to be. Someone at home must have fed you proper sentence structure.”

It made him laugh. I could see that Marco wasn’t the dead soul his style choice screamed. He was very much alive and breathing.

_He’s happy._

“Mom’s dead. She got cancer and died before I was able to talk. My dad struck gold back in college. Him and his buddy started some firm and apparently it boomed. The offices are a few cities over. My house is an hour away. I don’t spend much time there though. He wants me to be smart enough to man the ropes in a few years. Daddy Warbucks has always been real strict about that. Ever since I was little, I was told that’s what I was: heir to the Bodt throne. Don’t know why they didn’t pick one of my brothers to do it. Guess they were all too stupid. I’m the stupid one. I want to be a kindergarten teacher.”

“That’s...uh...kindergarten teacher? With those tattoos and piercings? I’m sorry to break it to you, but you should have thought about that before you uh...decided to get the giant deer tattooed on the inside of your arm.” I tapped it lightly with my index finger. A wave of embarrassment washed over him.

“Y-You act like tattoo removal isn’t an option,” He said, freckled face growing red. “And maybe in a few years, people won’t care about this kind of stuff. I’ve met a bunch of kids who think its cool.”

I let a laugh slip through the cracks. The more crimson his face got, the louder I laughed. I could feel tears forming before I noticed Marco didn’t seem as amused as myself.

A sigh was released before I started speaking again. “You have to remember that a lot of people out there aren’t all that understanding when it comes to the rebellious youth. I might act like a child, but I know that nobody’s going to let me into a school looking like I just walked out of Kat Von D’s tattoo parlor. Just because you have a sob story doesn’t mean they’re going to make you out to be the better person. Especially with your style choice. _No way in fucking hell._ You’re just another vermin to them. They want clean shaven boys from Yale or Harvard to sit down and have coffee with. Not tattooed hipster scum. ”

He was quiet, eyes scanning over the syrup that was eating away his pancakes. Minutes flew by before his brown eyes came back to the surface. “A lot of people have told me that. I’d like to believe that they’re all wrong. They don’t look at things the way I do. I try to make the best out of it, to ignore the superficial. Look at the person for who they really are.”

It was shocking. It sent ripples through the table. You could see his words sticking to the syrup on his pancakes, buried deep into the sugary liquid.

“How old are you again?” I chuckled, an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling I had.

“Seventeen. I turn eighteen soon, though.” Sternly, he set his eyes on a place in the distance.

“Well, I think that calls for a celebration,” I announced, slamming a few dollars on the table and leaping to my feet.

In all the years I’d been dead, the look on Marco’s face at that moment made the years of decaying seem worth it.

He was bringing me back to life. With those butterfly inducing smiles.

“R-really?” He cooed, following me out the door. He was looking more and more like a puppy by the minute.

“Why would I lie to you?” I opened the driver’s seat with a soft clunk. Eren’s car was mine for the day, rusted panels and holes in the hood releasing soft cries every time the old Hatchback moved.

“I-I don’t know,” He said, climbing into the passengers seat. He looked around the small car in awe, the interior very different from his organized Oldsmobile. The seats were blanketed in my cigarette holes, a patch of dried vomit sat uncleaned on the dash. Bobbles and trinkets covered the floor, souvenirs from my late night travels.

“You look grossed out,” I said, starting the car. The engine roared to life instantly, and soon slowed into a soft purr.  

“Your car is a mess,” He said, nudging a beer can with his foot. Some of the brown liquid spilled out onto his white converse, in which he replied with a soft sigh.

“Thank God it isn’t my car, then.” I sent a smirk his way. My hands followed the usual pattern: release the emergency brake, move to first gear. The car lurched forward with slow, almost unseen force. Eren’s car was something sent from Satan himself. It moved as if it was powered by tormented souls, screaming and wailing down roads.

“You can drive stick?” Marco asked, index finger creating orbs on the window.

“Obviously, if I’m driving right now.” The response was snappy, scaring his finger from its dramatic circle drawings. Smudges now covered the passenger window.

“S-Sorry.”

It was silent again. I found my eyes drifting from the road and over to his pale form. It sat quietly in the seat, head tilted just enough so that it caressed the thick seat belt. It began creating small red lines on his rosy cheeks. Shards of sunlight bounced off his eyes and into mine, my stares going unnoticed. Again, I found myself taking mental pictures of him.

“It’s too early to drink,” I decided, breaking the silence. The clock read 8:30.

“If you want to get an early start, we can,” Marco hinted, a grin peeking its way through. My insides throbbed and my heart beat. I didn’t want to agree with the teen, scared that my dark would infect his scoring white light. The innocence was hidden beneath dark clothes, but it burned through. I could never live down ruining something like him.

_But you ruined Armin._

I worried. I worried as my hand shifted gears, weary feet released the clutch, that they would soon be probing his body, dirtying his beautiful features. Nobody would want to touch him after I did. He would be almost unrecognizable.

It was almost like the car was driving itself now, the wheels knew the path home so well. Down side streets laced with cocaine stuffed noses and tar filled, heroin-addicted veins. Plants broke sidewalk surface, bitter over their lack of sunlight. The hatchback was a child with no sleep, sobbing its way to a stop.

The apartment complex held to monetary value. The shingles on the roof dropped to the ground from the scorching sun that rained down upon it daily. There were millions of cracks running up the dirty sides, some that held my old cigarette buds. The white doors were now cream from the smokers that stood outside them all night long. The golden numbers on them had fallen off years ago. There was no need for a mailman: this was a place of broken dreams and lonely souls. Nobody here got mail, unless it was an eviction noticed. And that letter was nailed to the door, blood red and dripping down the front of it.

“Come on,” I said, slamming the door. My feet carried me along the usual path to the front door, admiring the small flowers growing from a crack in the siding of the door.

Marco commented on how the outside was cute.

It almost made me smile.

 

-

 

“So what do you want?” I had my head buried within a cavern. The cupboards seemed like they were a mile thick, empty except for the occasional beer or plate shard. Armin had hidden the dishes someplace in the house, for fear that I’d break them all when I... _wasn’t exactly me._

“I don’t drink much, except for beer,” Marco answered from the couch, his words muffled by the shelves. I hadn’t realized the alcohol in the house had gotten so low, to the point where the shelves were now graveyards. Death lingered within them, white powder lacing the surface, along with dead rolliepollies.

“If that’s all you want…” My voice trailed off. Lazily, I opened the refrigerator door, examining the cases of beer. Taking two, I shuffled to the living room and set the cases onto the table.

“T-two cases?” His voice cracked. I collapsed next to him on the couch, pulling out a can. I let it sit in my hand until I was sure the cold had eaten away every living particle.

“What, gunna pussy out on me now?” I snapped the top open, tilting the can towards him. “This is my gift to you, Marco. Drink up.”

He looked uncomfortable. Overwhelmed. I instantly regretted the decision to invite him over. Soon enough, the room was fading away and it was just him and I, my eyes grazing over his shoulders and down his arms. His were directed at the cases of beer, hazel orbs transfixed on the case.

“I…” He trailed off. I waited intently for his reply. “I guess...I mean, it is my birthday.”

And that was it. We were off to see who could possibly get wasted before the clock struck three.

Marco didn’t drink like I had imagined. Instead of his hands shakily holding on to the can, they held on to it with the force of a forty year old alcoholic. Half a pack was finished within the first forty five minutes. Not many words were exchanged until his face began turning a deep shade of pink. His chest belted laughter and my words mixed with his as more cans were emptied into our stomachs. He was drunk by his fifth beer. I had barely felt a buzz by my seventh.

There was no stopping us.

He would talk about his father, and in return I would listen. The sounds weaved into stories of sadness and depression, a young boy drowning himself with self medicated pills. Things he stole from friend’s houses and doctors offices. Bothered by nothing except the empty feeling in his chest, when he was high he said he could do anything. The pills made him feel better than anyones love or compassion. Marco’s fire used to be driven by Prozac and Tofranil, now the hearth’s flames were ceasing to exist.

_I’m better now, though._

Bullshit’s bell rang loud and clear.

“Jean,” He said, cocking his head to the side. His voice was small. He had been reduced to a mere child before me. “Let’s go for a drive. To the country. On that road where I found you. It’s...it’s not too far from here. We can have a picnic. And watch the stars. There’s a field right there.”

The red in his lips intensified into an inferno. Panic stricken palms leaked sweat on to my jeans. Before I could even begin to think of an excuse to not leave the house, he was stumbling out the door. Looking around, I realized the damage we had done.

Both cases were gone. The bottles were strewn across the floor. I barely felt a buzz because I had barely had anything to drink. The freckled idiot had drank nearly the whole two cases, leaving my measly ten beers in the dust.

“Shit,” I whispered, kicking a can aside. “I think I love him.”

I locked the door behind me, hoping that when Armin opened that door that he couldn’t hear the walls repeating the words I shared.

 

-

 

“Let’s get some of this,” Marco slurred. A rickety shopping cart was being filled to the brim with breads, more than anyone would deem necessary for a picnic. Soft whispers of fifty year old commercials blared over the store speakers.

“You’ve got a lot of bread.” I didn’t want to respond. Looking at his drunken smile was causing my insides to burn. Everything in me was flooded with warmth and life. Butterflies were sprouting in my stomach and bashing at the walls at an attempt to escape. They weren’t supposed to be there.

_I don’t want them there._

“I-I think we have everything…” He hiccuped, rushing to the counter. I watched him drunkenly hand the cashier a gold card from over the shelf. The store had invested in dwarf-sized shelves, only reaching my shoulders. Something told me that a lazy fuck owned the place, and didn’t want to reach the top to restock the mac and cheese.

_I really hate people._

“Jean, I’m all done,” Marco babbled, a bag covered arm shooting up in the air. His wave beckoned me over to where he was, and I followed his unsure and shaky steps to the car.

It was a silent ride out to the spot where we’d first met. I didn’t think-no I couldn’t think. Rivers of thought that once flourished were dried up by the heat I felt in that car. The sun was setting now, shocking that the time had flown by so fast. Marco was bubbling in the seat next to me, unaware of the void that was being filled within me.

“They had nice blankets,” He said in a hushed tone, drowsily eyeing the plastic bags at his feet. I couldn’t do anything but laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” Marco inquired, slamming his fist on an invisible object. I choked up, trying not to spill poems onto the car’s floor.

“You’re just stupid, that’s all.”

“I-I’m not stupid, you’re stupid. You want to know what else is stupid? My fucking dad.” And he was off again. Nothing he said made much sense but I understood it all. I wanted to stop him and tell him about the rancid smell that lurked back in the apartment, the one I had left before we started our ride. It was eroding the walls and eating my clothes. We needed to go back so I could pull down the memories of Armin and I, so I could lock them up. The beaches and amusement parks wouldn’t begin to fade. The pictures would regain their color and I wouldn’t have to worry.

I could send Marco on his way.

_I’m not going to do that._

I pulled onto the side of the road, Marco already in the middle of the field within seconds of turning the car off. He head bobbed underneath the fleeting daylight, and disappeared into the field. Tall grass blocked my view of his swaying body.

“Marco, are you alright?” I yelled, following his path. Flowers picked at my ankles, whispering for me to make a move.

I’d make it a point to step on each of them individually on our way back.

“Right here,” He piped up, his deer arm flashing above the grass. A happiness I’d never really felt before appeared and urged me to run to him. So I did. My feet carried me, fast across the cold ground.

“You know, it’s not much of a picnic if we just have sandwiches.” It was as if I had spoken in a different language. His face twisted, something in between confusion and delight.

“So?” He snickered. “Anyway, a nice guy bought me breakfast and let me drink with him. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he made me feel good. So I thought this was the best way to repay him.”

He sat with his legs crossed on top of the checkered red and white blanket. It was plasticy material, crinkling loudly as you sat on it. He handed me two pieces of bread, shoved the ham into my arms, and directed me to make a sandwich.

“Do you have a family Jean?” He asked, moving into a more comfortable position. His entire body was facing upward watching the deep blue sky. Instead of turning my attention to the sky, everything was on him. The field around us could burn, but I wouldn’t move from that spot if he didn’t run to the car first. I didn’t want to miss any movement or bat of the lashes.

“I’d like to believe I didn’t.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” His voice was different. Layered. It had depth now. “You must have someone out there who loves you. They don’t have to be family. Sasha and Connie...they’re family. They’re my only family.”

Like always he enunciated to perfection. Tears were forming under my skin along with the butterflies.

“I’ve never really considered anyone family before,” I said, bringing my knees to my chest. I wrapped my arms around them, pulling them closer, tighter. Just like how I wanted to hold him. Close to my chest, feeling his breath on top of mine.

The air was slowly going from day to night. I could begin to see my breath, stars forming in the sky, little paint blots on a vast black canvas. The wind began to pick up, but only for a moment. A car could be heard miles away, revving its engine, swallowing the silence of the night.

“We sound like cliche movie characters,” I said into my knees. Marco laughed.

“I like that. That’s what you sound like Jean.,” He said, rolling over onto his chest. The dark was starting to suck him up and I could no longer make out any of his features. My sandwich lay uneaten on the ground.

“What do I sound like, exactly?” I asked, laying down next to him. I felt like I had once felt in high school: full of life and unable to control my hormones. I needed to know what he felt like up close, how the little hairs stuck to his face and the way the ends of his lips curled up the slightest bit.

“The main character. Can’t you see it?” His eyes got wide, like they always did when he was surprised. “You’re the leading man.”

“You watch too many movies,” I said to him, my eyes locked with his. These moments were nothing like high school. The quiet between us could not be described as awkward. Marco’s eyes didn’t drift away like past crushes did. His body movements didn’t scream the words “you’re too close, I can’t let you in.”

“A-and I could be your leading lady.” It was almost inaudible. He didn’t want those words to leak. The scene from the club replayed in my head over and over until I thought my mind would burn it to ashes.

Three seconds.

That’s all it took me to reach over and smash his lips against mine. It was a short kiss, this time around there was no lip biting or tongue lashing. Something else that reminded me of high school.

I pulled away.

“You’ll love me, right?” I whispered. Immediately after I let the words out, I regretted every decision I’d made in my life. All the restless nights with people I didn’t know were suddenly itching at my cigarette-stained arms. The knock-down, drag out fights reminded me of a child’s mistake,  instead of a knight’s triumph. Speechless days I spent with Armin were now hours I could have spent with him.

“Definitely.” His wet lips stumbled over the words. He was learning to speak again. The beer hadn’t worn off, but he was no longer in such a state that he couldn’t string sentences of more than four words.

I let my lips into his again. Just like the first time, his hands were tangled in my hair, pulling. The taste of beer still lingered in his mouth.

“I love you,” I whispered, pulling away from him.

“I love you too,” He slurred back.

A drunken reply was all I needed.

Again, we placed our lips together, moving to the beat of the world around us. My hands went after his belt buckle. My fingers fumbled over each other as they tried to break the belt away from his jeans.

He stopped me before I could get his pants past his ankles.

“J-Jean, I don’t want to do this here, not now.” We both sat on the ground, panting and huffing. My ears rejected what they had just heard and went back in for more.

I blocked out his pleas to stop. It was like I had put a mute button on my entire world. Even my head was silent. It was almost like I was alone for the first time in my life.

_I fucking love it when you cry,  Jean._  

“Jean stop,” Marco hissed, pushing me off. I landed inches away from him with my back against a hard rock.

“I-I’m sorry.”

 

-

 

The ride home was frustrating. Nothing had gotten further than kissing and neck biting. My growing erection was calmed down by the sound of Marco’s pleads to stop. He didn’t want to do anything while he was drunk. I could understand that.

_It would ruin the experience, anyway._

When he gave me the directions to his house, his voice wasn’t as confident as it had been hours before. All the energy and happiness had been drained away. My rain had pulled away that smile.

_You’re already tainting him._

Everything was speeding around me. The car was only going forty but it felt like we were going 100. I recovered the images from the field, where I was forcing myself onto him. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want me. Everything I wanted with him was starting to dull. A picture perfect life with him wasn’t going to happen if I had caused any more damage than I had already done.

“I’ve always been rough with my partners,” I admitted, trying to cover my tracks.

_It wasn’t you back there. It wasn’t you._

“It’s alright, I’ve been with worse guys.” The words stung.

“Is this your house?” I parked the car in front of a two story house, covered in flowers and greenery. The grass was cut short, a small pond sitting right next to the long porch. Lights flickered in an upstairs bedroom, a television obviously brightening the room. The rest of the house was dark except for that one light. You wouldn’t think a soul lived there if it hadn’t been for that one window.

“Yeah.” He reached over, placing his hand on my neck. “Have a goodnight sleep, Jean.”

Before leaning in for another kiss, I hesitated, thinking how wrong the night had gone.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Marco,” I said, not thinking before I spoke.

It made him smile. Even after the horrible situation, it made him smile.

And laugh.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Jean.”

I watched until he got to the door, my eyes blurred with tears. Nothing had prepared me for the emotions I had felt then. It was a dark feeling, like tar had filled my lungs. Now I was huffing and trying my hardest to compose myself.

As I drove home, I prayed to God that he didn’t hate me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is really long and kind of boring. 
> 
> But I really like the end. 
> 
> I thought of how to do it a bunch of times, and I deleted it and rewrote it at least 10. Jean gets a little...unlinear, in there I guess. I tried to break character during it, using less meaningful words, because to me, he started to panic. When Marco refused his advances, he started thinking Marco didn't really love him. Yeah.
> 
> A thought in there wasn't Jean's, either. 
> 
> If you catch my drift.
> 
> You probably don't.


	4. High

I couldn’t say that the night had caused me much damage. Jean Kirschstein had taken harder punches. Physically, mentally, it didn’t matter, it all hurt the same to me.  
Or didn’t hurt was a better way to describe it.

When others knocked you down why not bring yourself up with a nice hit off the pipe? Lock yourself away for a while, let the demons soak through your pores and the smoke fill your lungs to the brim. Or maybe a needle. That would be your best friend for weeks. It left stings on your skin like a bee but it left a good feeling in your veins. Cocaine I was not a big fan of but it still made me giddy.

  
Guess that was my poison of choice.

  
“Stupid fucking bitch,” I whispered, keeping one hand held tight to the wheel while the other reacher for the glove box.  
 _Jean, please. I really think he’s the one this time._

  
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” The words were spewed onto the dash with anger attached, each syllable egged the speedometer on.

My hand shook as I lifted the white powder to my nose. There was a small stash hidden within the parking tickets and condom packets Eren stuffed within the compartment. It was there specifically for moments like this. For the times I got so out of control the only way to push me back was to make it worse.  
I made it back to the apartment with ease. I was intent on getting home and laying in bed-  
 _fucking_ -  
Armin. Holding him so close to me that the marks from my hands would last until after breakfast.

I could still hear Marco’s crying voice as I took the front door key from my pocket. My tainted insides longed to hear it for a second time, this time loud and in more pain. It was one of the notions I regretted the most, thoughts that crept in without warning.

As I unlocked the door, the strong smell of alcohol filled my nostrils. Still laying on the floor were the beer cans Marco and I had thrown aside. Bits of dry liquid stuck to the hardwood floor and stained the large oriental rug.

That was the first thing I had bought for the apartment.

As I stood staring at the stains, memories of a hazy summer started rushing back. It was when we first formed the band. Mikasa and Eren suggested I move into their tiny apartment, but chose to room with the witty blonde instead. The look on Armin’s face when I showed up on his doorstep, guitar over shoulder and bags in tow, was priceless. Somewhere between overjoyed and furious was where he was caught. After living together for the month of June, things were clockwork. We knew exactly what ticked the other off. Armin didn’t like it when I got toothpaste stuck to the sides of the sink. I hated when he’d leave expired milk in the fridge, stating “its still good Jean, just use it.”

In that summer, we found each other. I almost felt like I found myself. It was something I’d never felt before. Armin opened a new part of me, one that never had seen the light of day. All of it felt so new. I was ready to turn everything around. Ecstasy adventures would now instead be spent on the couch playing guitar and watching Armin as he did his homework. The day the carpet was bought was the day I first told him I loved him.

It was one of the only times I’d ever told him I loved him and meant it.

Then in the fall things started going downhill. Armin had to drop out of school, doubting that he’d ever become anything more than a grocery clerk and a backstage manager. I did everything in my power to convince him otherwise, more out of the fear that he might turn into the shell I’d been all through highschool. He assured me he’d keep his head held high until we were in real trouble. Somehow I found myself taking Eren’s car late into the night when I couldn’t deal with the sound of his breathing.

A stroke of panic raced through me. It was the realization that people were littered across the floor, too. Levi and his-  
 _undoubtedly crazy-_  
girlfriend Hanji were wrapped in each others arms, lulled to sleep by the sound of the record player. Eren was facedown on the couch, empty bottle of water in hand. I rolled my eyes and kicked his arm as I walked past.

I could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom, Mikasa’s slim figure soon in view.

“Hey,” I whispered, leaning onto the wooden doorframe. My fingers tapped restlessly on the doorknob. The look on Mikasa’s face told me that she knew how buzzed I was.

“You need get some sleep,” She said, moving her ivory hands to the red towels Armin had set out. “How long were you going to let the high last before coming home?”  
They match the wallpaper, Jean.

“As long as I needed to. Night.” I winked, tapping the golden knob a few more time before disappearing into the dark hallway.

“Hey, Armin, I’m home,” I said, squeezing each syllable between my teeth. It was one of the few times Armin had the blinds completely shut.

_Don’t turn the light on._

I dropped to me knees in hope to find my way to the bed. Crawling on the splintering wooden floor reminded me of when I was younger, looking for a toy in the dark.

Right then, the thought of being an astronaut leaked into my trafficy head.

“Armin?” Something moved in the darkness, the sound of skin rubbing on skin was loud against the silence. “Hey Armin, I’m home.”  
Now somebody was mumbling. The voice was deep and rough, nothing like Armin’s. I could feel the puzzled look on my face. I moved my body back across the floor and let my fingers find the light switch.

I was sure my face was a booming shade of red. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

“Hey Erwin, how’s it going?” I hissed, kicking the big oaf’s foot. The stupid thing could barely fit on the mattress, Armin curled up beside him, lost in the huge sheet. The two were just starting to wake up, voices groggy.

“You two want to tell me just what the ever living fuck is going on?” I was screaming now. I could tell that soon I’d be losing control of my entire body. The drug would take over and it wouldn’t be Jean anymore. It’d be the monster that hid himself way down deep.

“Fuckers, answer me,” I demanded, fist pounding on pale wall. His frame was that of a grain of sand next to Erwin. It made me sick to my stomach to see their bodies intertwined with one anothers. Their arms and legs like two abandoned rag dolls. I was angry. I was more than angry I was furious and I wanted to take a bat to both of their heads. The walls would be red before the moon vanished.  
 _You’re not angry, you’re just jealous._

“Get out. If neither of you are going to answer me, then get out,” I hissed, sending my fist flying at the wall again. This time it shot Armin up from the bed.

“Jean, stop.” These words didn’t come from Armin. Eren’s hand sat on top of my shoulder, like a mother trying to comfort a now broken but once confident child.

“Get out.” The gears weren’t turning. Nothing was moving. “All of you get the fuck out of here right now. I swear if you don’t leave I’ll bash your fucking skulls in, every last one of you.”

“You’re fucking insane.” I guess Armin thought it was his turn to speak.

“Did I say you could talk?” I barked back. Erwin was already beginning to put his clothes on. He hadn’t said a single fucking word to me. Not even an explanation as to why he was fucking my proper-  
 _my boyfriend._

“Jean, you’re high. You’re being a prick. Just calm down and breathe.” I didn’t need Eren’s Dr. Phil bullshit. He wasn’t understanding the situation. He didn’t get what was going on. None of them got it.

“Let him throw his tantrum. He knew this was coming sooner or later.”

“You’ve ruined yourself, Jean. Outbursts like this are going to be your downfall, that’s for sure.”

“I still love you. I hope you know that.”

 

I was alone now. Though Armin was long gone, probably fitting into Erwin’s arms comfortably, I still slept on the couch. My arms and legs twitched slightly from the cocaine that was still radiating from my body. I was surprised that I could sit down. All the frustration and anger in my body was now tensed into a tiny black ball in the middle of my chest. Vomit was swirling somewhere in me but it didn’t have the right mindset to find the right way to the throat.

I thought about my mother. And her boyfriends.

And before I blacked out I thought of Marco, and how his pleads brought a slight smile to my face.

_You’re really fucked up, you know that Jean?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time definitely no writing. Sorry guys I've been really low lately. I really have no excuse for not writing. I just haven't been in the mood for anything except watching Youtube videos and eating. I hope this chapter isn't super shitty because I basically pulled it out of my butt. It could have been way better, I'm not going to lie.


	5. Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I'm on summer break oops here's that new chapter finally oops i make shitty john green references

“So, why are we going to pick this kid up from school?” Eren sighed, running his fingers up and down the ripping leather seat. I attempted to ignore his questions, turning the car slowly into the bustling parking lot.

“Well?” His face grew serious. Part of me knew that fessing up to buying Marco drugs wasn’t going to fly with Eren. But a simple excuse as to why I was picking up an awkward high school boy wouldn’t get past him either.

“He called me and asked if I wanted to hang out,” I said quickly, feeling the inside of my mouth grow dry. The old rumbling piece of shit came to a lurching stop. My eyes darted around for any sign of the freckled boy.

“You’re totally lying, Jean.” Silence.

“No way, man.”

“Are you two fucking?”

“Eren will you stop with the bullshit questions and just look for Marco,” I murmured, sticking a cigarette between my teeth.

Eren continued to talk, more questions flying out of his mouth than ever. Never had I heard him ask so many different things in a row. Suddenly we were in a courtroom and I was the one being accused of murder. All the things that had been going on lately were being acknowledged right there in that car, in that school parking lot. Looking around, I realized that none of these people had the slightest clue of what was going on, and I was sort of glad they didn’t. All the questions were making my face red hot with anger.

_Knock his lights out, Jean._

“Eren, fuck off.” I bellowed. My voice caught the attention of concerned looking parents, immediately averting their gazes after seeing my huffing and puffing.

“I just want some answers. You’ve acted like this your whole life, and all of a sudden you’re going out of your way to help some stupid bratty boy. I mean, he’s not even all that attractive, y’know?”

I let out a loud groan. I felt like melting into the seats, and let my gross fluids sink into the cracks in the roads and leak into the Earth. Maybe a nice plant would make use out of it and grow into a big tree.

With my luck it’d be a weed.

“Oh hey, look, there he is.” The roaring eruption of frantic arm movements and loud “hey freckles”  threw me so off guard that the cigarette fell out of my mouth.

In the sea of blue sweater vests and khaki pants, I could see Marco lumbering his way through. This boy was definitely no Moses. His long legs didn’t help in the slightest either. Twenty feet away and I could tell his persona was completely different from the one he put up around me.

“Why do you look so horrified?” They were the only words I could gather. This was the second time I had seen Marco in his school uniform, but this was euphoric when compared to the first. His undershirt was a bit baggy in the sleeves, wrinkled by pushing them up the arm constantly. His pants fit just right, secure at his hips by a tight belt. A bulging backpack was slung around his shoulder, charms and buttons gracing their presence up the straps. The navy blue sweater vest was covered in cigarette burns, a large one right over where his left nipple was.

“Is that what I look like?”

Yet again he shocked me, the klutz of a fallen angel turning into Satan spawn. I could see the horns poking from underneath his gelled down hair.

“Hey, Eren.” He added.

“So, is there a reason we’re picking you up from school, frecks?”

I clutched the rearview mirror, heart race speeding. Marco was just starting to get into the car as Eren spoke the words, and now he was stopped, one leg already buried beneath the trash.

“We were going on a date,” Marco lied. The rest of his body was now secure in its seat, ready for the car ride. Eren looked to me for confirmation.

I nodded. “I mean, I wouldn’t have said date, but we are going out to dinner.”

_Dinner, more like code word for party._

It was Eren who let out a sigh this time. “Just take me to the store, and drop me off back home. I just wanted to buy Mikasa’s stupid vegan chips.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.” A chuckle creeped out from the backseat. “You think that’s funny Marco?”

“I need to start reminding you of how dorky you are,” He sighed, pulling a t-shirt out of his bag. Before he could get a good grasp on his vest, I sent the car speeding through the parking lot, hand on the stereo.

“So Marco, how was your day? Mine was unfortunately spent with this stick in the mud,” I confessed, cracking a smile towards Eren.

“Oh, wounded am I! To be slain by such words is the cruelest fate!” Eren screamed, slamming his intertwined into the left ribcage. “My heart! Oh, God, why have you forsaken me!”  

I couldn’t take my eyes off Marco’s figure in the backseat. Within that tiny mirror, I could see every freckle intensified, like I was looking through a microscope. Every beautiful feature was there before me. I wanted to describe all his features the way a poet would a broken heart, but God knows my brain was incapable of such beauties.

“Wow, where’d that old fart Eren go?” I inquired, the question immediately receiving an answer through Eren’s immediate punch to the upper arm.

“My day was fine, Jean.” For the moment my eyes had broken contact with his face, Marco had begun undressing.

“What the fuck,” Eren mumbled, moving his gaze out the window. Unlike Eren, was transfixed on Marco yet again.

I felt weak, constantly caught up in thoughts of Marco.

“You whore, undressing in my car like that.” I whipped an arm into the back, grabbing at his bare stomach, making sure I had a good enough grip on that wheel in case the car. His immediate giggles were satisfaction to my ears.

“You know Armin still exists, right?” The moment was broken. An immediate input like that shouldn’t have happened at such a time, but Eren’s eye shone that this was the only time it should be addressed. And unfortunately it was addressed toward Marco.

It felt like I was being gutted. I hadn’t explained any of the situation to Marco. Nobody wants to admit to their significant other cheating on them in their own bed. Especially not to the person they find to be the definition of perfect. Marco’s frown was the only thing that brought me to confessing my woes.

“Armin and I had a bit of a falling out, Marco,” I admitted.

“You didn’t have a falling out, Jean. Armin still loves you.”

I could feel all the cigarette burns lining my arms begin to singe my skin once again. Acquired with it was my burning hatred for Eren’s words. Thoughts of ripping his body to shreds and leaving each limb in a separate landfill crossed my mind, but saying such things were seen as socially unacceptable. Right now I didn’t want Marco to know how grotesque my mind could get.

“Eren, now isn’t the time for this.”

“Yes, it is. Marco should know that you’re not single, and you won’t be single for quite some time. Leading the poor guy on isn’t going to help your situation. You and Armin have always been a thing! Relationship or not, you love each other.”

“If this isn’t the right time...You can just drop me off at Sasha’s.” Marco’s voice shook,

I was beginning to grow sick of the constant bugging and picking at my sanity. Eren’s words were probing the darkest corners of my mind. I knew exactly what he was trying to do: get Jean to say something fucked up, that’ll get Marco to back off.

“No.”

“I just don’t think it’s right that you’re putting Marco in the same position you put all those other girls and guys, Jean.”

“It was toxic. I was a constant disappointment to Armin. He and I just are compatible anymore. I know you and Mikasa have some fucked up version of the two of us in your heads, one where we don’t fight all the time, where I actually take care of him and don’t run off. But that’s just not how it is anymore. I’m ruining Armin, he’s better off without me.” I was screaming now. The louder my voice got, the more Eren’s back would straighten out. His hands had morphed into fists, ready to fight if I was to get out of hand.

I could I assure him I was ready to fight at any moment. I just had to pull the car into some parking lot and we could go at it.

“Jean, can’t you just-”

“Eren, get the fuck out.” I stopped the car, other drivers honking for me to get out of the way.

“What?”

“I said: get the fuck out.” _Before I bash your fucking skull in you worthless piece of shit._ “Here’s some cash, call a cab, or fucking walk home for all I care. Tell Mikasa I’m going to be late for the show.”

“You have some nerve to kick me out of my own car,” Eren challenged, as he opened the door. I held back every fiber of my being from knocking him in the back of the head before he got out.

“I also have just enough nerve left over to shut the door,” I said, grabbing the handle and slamming it closed. “And drive away.”

Marco burst into laughter after Eren’s dumbstruck figure was out of sight. Still laughing, he climbed into the front with me, his entire body wracked with waves of laughter.

“You have to be kidding me, Jean,” he cried, pulling the seatbelt over his torso. My disposition was completely different from his own, stuck between sadness and anger.   
Everything that was happening was starting feel wrong. I questioned Marco’s presence in that car, in that moment. That maybe he wasn’t supposed to exist in my timeline right then and there. Marco should have been Armin and then backseat should have been filled with the laughter of Eren and Mikasa, not the rattling of empty beer cans.

“Jean, are you okay?”

“I don’t think us hanging out together is good, either.” I felt like getting out of the car myself. To vomit all over the street was better than being in that car with Marco. Something I never would have thought before then.

I pulled us onto a side road, parking in front of a beat up looking house. Watching the young woman on the porch play with her child made the empty space inside me grow even more.

Before I knew it I was crying, tears just pouring down my cheeks. I felt stupid, stupid for falling in love with Marco, and falling so out of love with Armin. Eren was right, I was supposed to be with that stupid blonde fuck. He was the one who made me happy, he was the one who did everything for me. I would be lost without him.

“I’m a grenade, Marco. I-I’m…” I couldn’t get anything else out before he….started laughing again. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

“W-who are you? John Green?” I paused. “Jean, you’re so stupid. You’re sitting here questioning a toxic relationship. I barely know anything about it, and I still think you did the right thing.”

“...Did you really have to compare me to John Green?” I choked out.

“You said one of his most famous lines, how could I not?” He took the back of his hand and rubbed the still falling tears away from my face.

“I know, but that just really ruined the moment.”  

“Can we just go get my stuff?”

“Oh, Lord forbid the drug lords are pissed at us for being ten minutes late.”

“I highly doubt Connie’s brother is a drug lord. He’s just a pothead.”

“You never know.”

_Maybe I kinda...did love Marco after all._

“I lit up like a Christmas tree, Hazel Grace,” He laughed as we pulled back onto the main road.

“Shut up,” I laughed, hitting him lightly on the arm. “You’re making me fall in love with you.”

“ _Okay._ ”

“Fuck off.”

_Or maybe not._


	6. Bible Belt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning!!!

****

Drugs are just another way for someone to escape their reality. They’re that alternative path to living. A fork in the road, one labeled “freedom” and the other labeled “labor”, and even a child would know the right answer. There wouldn’t be questioning it.

But a child doesn’t know the repercussions of that freedom, and that’s why throughout their lives they’re taught to forget the freedom. A buzzer in their brain tells them the right thing to do is to pick up the rocks and build the castle. Nobody is coming to build it for them, so why wait around for it?

Work is the only way to get things done in this life.

I think that’s what I really hate about living.

Yet sometimes work doesn’t get you a fancy car, or a even something as simple as the shoes on your feet. A man could work from sunrise to sunset only to have enough to feed himself.

Another one can sit behind a desk, shine his shoes and make millions. But no way in hell he’ll give it to someone less deserving.

I don’t like working. Working would determine who I am in this world.

I don’t think I’m ready for that.

“Sweetheart, can you go downstairs and wake Joe up.” The lulled voice from under the blankets was just demanding enough to jolt the adolescent boy from the other end of the couch.

As he passed, his eyes lingered over the black mass of hair that leaked from the blanket. It was something so small, something so insignificant, that made me happy inside.

I could tell it brightened his mood, too.

Before his body led heavy legs down the dusty stairwell, an ivory hand gave him the thumbs up from beneath the blanket.

He nodded, smiling as he shut the door behind him.

I followed, watched as he used the railing on his way down. Lead arms hung at my sides, decorated by scars from past memories. The musty air filled my body to the brim. It caused my steps to be slow, precise. Unlike the boy’s, each of his steps were massive, skipping one or two stairs at a time.

Under the florescent lights the boy stood engulfed in the air just as I did. He looked hesitant to shake the gruff looking man out of his covers. Confidence was flowing through him today, though, because his pale hand met with the dinghy covers and ripped them right off the bed.

The sheets now lay in a heap right where black converse stood. They were trembling, the confidence now puddling on the floor beneath them.

The next scene played out like an artist’s flipbook, each movement a bit robotic and delayed. The older man’s arm dug tightly into the adolescent’s upper arms, the skin underneath reddening. The boy was thrown to the floor and with a loud “crack”, I could see his ribs indent slightly.

The cork was pulled from the bottle, releasing heaping amounts of adrenaline into the tiny basement room. I wanted to reach out and help him, but a weight had fallen over me. The younger one screamed and flailed his limbs into the air, but all his attempts at getting away were no use, and the man began removing his clothing.

The more that happened, the less I could look away. Colors were beginning to leak together and create a muddy surrounding. The only things seen were the two wrestling each other on the ground, screaming and crying. Above me the basement door slammed shut, and knocked me from my feet.

The boy went completely limp, letting the larger man take him over. He was quite now, eyes glazed over from crying.

Eyes staring directly into mine.

“Help,” He whispered. Faster and faster, the word grew. And as it grew, bruises and cuts appeared across his body and face. Years and years of abuse were being shown in one measly minute.

“Stop it,” I screamed back. My arms were once again usable, so I stretched a scarred hand out. “Stop you’re hurting him!”

“I love it when you cry, Jean,” the man grunted, wrapping harry fingers around the boys neck. He gripped it tightly, leaving more marks. “Do it more.”

 

I shot up from the bed, sickness wracking my whole body. My feet couldn’t take me faster to the bathroom. Each step was like running through water, the imaginary sand beneath me giving out each time.

My whole body heaved toward the toilet in one swift movement. I had no time to noticed my sweat drenched t-shirt. I was too busy throwing up that night’s dinner onto it. Bits and pieces of chicken floated in the bowl below me, some hitting my shirt, sticking to the already wet surface. Just as I thought I was done, my body would find more bile to eject from my stomach. Soon I was just throwing up stomach acid, yellow and stagnant to the eyes.

“I need a job.”  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. If you haven't noticed, this is my first Attack on Titan fic. I guess I was just joking around about them all being hipsters and being in an indie band...and this camE OUT OF IT? I've written a few fanfictions before (and hopefully they're all buried in the dust...) but yeah, first for snk. I'm horrible at updating, and only put this part up because it's currently break where I am. So updates are going to be really...really slow probably. Once a week, I'm hoping, or once every two. I regret taking AP classes. Anyway, I hope you liked the story, and I hope to be seeing you back for the next chapter.
> 
> EDIT: The band's name is Teenage Ruin, not Teenage Massacre. Sorry if there was confusion, I've been working out the last few detail kinks. Also, there were some grammatical errors fixed. Thank you.


End file.
